Let school-masters puzzle their brain
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives genus a better discerning.
Let them brag of their Hathenish Gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians;
Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,
They’re all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll!